


All Sorts Of Fascinating Things

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (not a plot point but Crowley gets plenty of POV and he loves his round angel so y'know), Asexual Relationship, Because it's fun, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley being an obnoxious flirt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, I just wanted to write established-relationship fluff so here it is almost 7k words of it, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Pet Names, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, This story has art!, To Boldly Get A Wiggle On, also this isn't an AU it's just set way in the future, and also some completely asexual feeding, and because he loves his round angel, but that will not become a habit because it takes me f o r e v e r to produce artwork, includes a completely asexual approach to why Crowley is Very Interested in watching Aziraphale eat, it's about the Tender Devotion, ~250 years established at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: Galactic High Commissioner Crowley and his assistant were definitely aboard the Enterprise on Federation business.  That business was completely unknown to the crew, though, so why the pair got to join the advance scouting parties for upcoming shore leave was anyone’s guess.(Remember the original Star Trek episode "Shore Leave"?  Aziraphale and Crowley are there now, because hitching a ride on the Enterprise sounded like fun.  Probably nothing weird will happen on that nice idyllic planet.  Yep, just two ridiculously-in-love supernatural entities, and nothing else going on at all.  Wait, where'd those ducks come from?)





	All Sorts Of Fascinating Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a little bit of a silly one. It's a crossover with Star Trek, technically, except really nobody is in it other than Aziraphale and Crowley, and also the caretaker from "Shore Leave" for about two minutes. Also, **I drew Aziraphale and Crowley as they appear in this story! You can find it on my Tumblr [here](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/188025821044/here-is-the-artwork-for-the-good-omensstar-trek).** There's also some info on stuff like Crowley's outfit under my [ineffablefool original art](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-original-art) tag. And -- if you're not a Star Trek nerd like I am, and you'd like a summary of the episode I'm riffing, [I've got your back](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Shore_Leave_\(episode\)).
> 
> For returning readers, I love you!! Welcome back! For new readers, welcome for the first time!! It's lovely to have you! I hope you enjoy fiction with an asexual and fat-positive lens, because that is all I write. (It usually doesn't involve Star Trek, though.)
> 
> Please note that there is some pretty egregious flirting in this one, some of it a little suggestive. But ace fam: I promise that they both know that neither of them wants to engage in any kind of, y'know, activities. I understand if you still need to give this one a miss. If you get to the line "All right, run your scans" in the second section, and you're okay with the bit that came right before, then you should be good to go.
> 
> I hope the viewpoint switching, and tracking of character identities once the switching really starts up, aren't confusing, but please let me know if they are. Rule of thumb, if a section starts with a character name, that actual character is the one being followed, and you can assume them to be an unreliable narrator due to their perceptions being potentially incorrect.
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale's body is shaped like how Tumblr user speremint draws him (([1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut also draws a gorgeous Aziraphale with a lovely round face](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how))), because I much prefer to imagine that as I work. Please also imagine that as you read! Or take another look at the drawing linked at the top of these notes. He's got the right outfit and everything.
> 
> Those were long notes. Have some fiction!

_"The term is 'amusement park'. An old Earth name for a place where people could go to see and do all sorts of fascinating things."_  
_ \-- Commander Spock, "Shore Leave"_

* * *

Galactic High Commissioner Crowley was definitely aboard on Federation business. Commander Spock had seen him and his assistant on board personally, and had apparently exchanged some words with the Commissioner regarding the latter’s assignment. Whatever Spock might have learned, though, he certainly hadn’t shared with the crew; so while the two strangers had the run of the ship, nobody with rank Lieutenant Commander or lower particularly understood why.

Scuttlebutt had it that the Commissioner was from one of the civilizations out by Theta Pictoris, or maybe Benecia. He looked human enough, and his accent was pure Earth, but a couple of lower-deck ensigns swore up and down that he had snake eyes under those dark glasses of his. The assistant was definitely human, though. Some lieutenant from sciences division. Average height, above-average weight, curly blond hair. Quite the contrast when they walked down the corridors together, the assistant usually clutching a pile of antique books against his broad chest as he scurried along next to the tall, lean, weirdly snakey figure of the Commissioner.

The books were a real curiosity amongst the crew, but the first person to express interest in getting a better look had nearly lost a hand. No one had braved a second attempt.

At any rate, the Commissioner and Lieutenant Fell had the run of the ship, and they’d been making use of it for weeks in... whatever capacity it was they were here in. They were more or less polite to everyone as long as Fell’s books were left alone, and the only time they really bothered anyone was when the Commissioner would do something like glue a credit chip to the floor outside one of the recreation rooms.

Of course, there was also the time one of the lab technicians tried flirting with the assistant. Lieutenant Fell didn’t notice, but Commissioner Crowley certainly did. Word was that the technician’s nightmares had mostly stopped after a couple of weeks.

The pair really didn’t have any apparent link to ship’s business, so why they got to join the scouting parties for upcoming shore leave was anyone’s guess.

* * *

“Remind you of anything?”

Crowley and Aziraphale strolled across a verdant expanse, following what looked suspiciously like a path as it wound in and out of the lush greenery. Crowley bumped shoulders with Aziraphale, smiling; although his look soured when the angel only muttered something and made an adjustment to his tricorder.

“This really is terribly unlikely. Why, if I didn’t know better I’d say this whole area is being actively maintained. And there are no insects, but then why are there so many flowering plants? What pollinates them? And I –”

“Angel.” Crowley stopped, holding out a hand for the tricorder. When Aziraphale passed it to him, he tossed it over his shoulder without looking. “I am trying to reminisce here. This place looks an awful lot like another garden I could name.” He slipped an arm around Aziraphale. “Good thing you don’t carry a phaser. Give it away to the nonexistent locals, I’d probably fall in love with you.”

Aziraphale somehow managed to look both pleased and long-suffering, although when Crowley squeezed him closer, the expression was replaced with studiously prim disapproval. “Crowley! Need I remind you, I am _in uniform!_”

Crowley grinned as he walked the fingers of his free hand up the slope of Aziraphale’s belly. “So you’re saying I should get you out of that uniform?”

Aziraphale gave him a look.

“All right, run your scans, since I made the obvious mistake of teaching you how to work one of those bloody things in the first place.” Crowley smoothed a curl back from Aziraphale’s forehead, leaving a kiss in its place, before tromping into the underbrush where the tricorder had vanished. “But I’m going to get you to admit this place is romantic, lovely angel, and then I’m going to kiss you. A lot. Oh! Here it is.”

“It’s just strange. I’m not sure these readings will be useful to their scientists at all.” Aziraphale took back his tricorder without looking up, and was already scanning again before Crowley had finished brushing leaves off of his trousers. “Also, Eden was much nicer, I think.” He glanced up with a little smirk. “There aren’t any snakes here, after all, and you know how fond I am of them.”

Crowley looked off over the horizon somewhere. “Funny way of showing it.”

His pout dissolved as a pudgy hand rose, tugging his chin down again. Aziraphale’s kiss was brief, barely more than a press of closed lips, but still managed to hint at more to come.

“Now,” he said, continuing on through the undergrowth. “Do let me get on with it, beloved.”

Crowley walked with Aziraphale in smug silence for almost five minutes after that, and only pestered him a little bit for the next ten.

* * *

Crowley slunk idly along in Aziraphale’s wake, enjoying the view.

“You know, it really is like Eden.” Aziraphale pointed to a large, sprawling shrub, covered in multicolored blooms. “I seem to recall this being one of those Adam didn’t quite get a chance to name.”

“Wonder if there’s a wall. Can’t be Eden without the wall.”

“It’s hardly Eden. We’re hundreds of light years away from Earth. Wh — are those pears?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Sure, can’t be a _wall_, but there can be pears. Makes perfect sense.”

Aziraphale stopped by what did actually look like a pear tree, not looking back as he fiddled with his tricorder again. “Why are you so interested in walls, anyway?”

“Angel. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? It was a very special place to me.” Crowley stepped up behind Aziraphale, wrapping both arms around the wide soft waist, resting his head against the white-gold curls. “‘S where we met.”

Aziraphale’s voice thrummed through him. “Sentimental demon. There was nothing special about the wall; we could’ve met anywhere.”

“But we didn’t. I saw a pretty little angel patrolling up there —” he grinned and squeezed a couple handfuls of belly — “Only not so little, I suppose —”

“Cheek,” Aziraphale said indulgently.

“— I saw an _utterly beautiful_ angel patrolling up there, and I knew I had to find an excuse to talk to him. Then I found out he was a looker _and_ an idiot, and that was it for me.”

“You really believe that I’m the idiot in this relationship, darling?”

“One of us is spending his holiday running _environment scans_.” Crowley nuzzled in closer against Aziraphale’s hair. His hands began rubbing slow circles into the angel’s soft middle. “You aren’t even in their Starfleet. You just like to dress up.”

Aziraphale relaxed against him, although his tongue still kept its edge. “Speak for yourself, that ridiculous getup of yours. I can’t even tell what those sleeves are supposed to be. This uniform gets me access to practically every library in the galaxy!”

“Miracle’d do the same. But then I guess I wouldn’t see you in all this skin-hugging velour.”

“Hmph.” Aziraphale put his hands over Crowley’s, lifting them so he could place a kiss on each palm. “Dearest. The sooner all of their scans are finished, the sooner they can start coming down. They really are so tired after their last mission. They need a holiday much more than we do.”

Then, pulling away and flitting a glance back over his shoulder: “Oh, and I thought you wanted me out of the velour a little while ago. Did you change your mind?”

There was a moment of utter silence as Aziraphale disappeared into the greenery. Then Crowley laughed — a long, deep-chested laugh that would’ve scared away all the local wildlife if there’d been any — and, shaking his head, followed.

* * *

Aziraphale ran his finger along the edge of a petal; beamed at a leafy vine which wouldn’t have looked out of place in the old flat back on Earth. Crowley would find him any moment now. Aziraphale had decided that he would allow a little more endearingly terrible flirting from his demon, perhaps a one-liner or a waggle of eyebrows. But he’d finished his scans, now, everything sent back to the ship’s computers, and he was more than ready to move on from flirting to kissing. Assuming that Crowley was willing, of course. He suspected that Crowley would be very willing.

It took him a few minutes to realize he was still alone. The stream they’d been walking along had broadened, opening out into a pond ahead of him. A charming little thing, perfect place to sit on a bench and feed the ducks, if there had been ducks here to feed —

Oh. And a demon to feed them with. Where _was_ Crowley?

“Crowley, love?” Aziraphale set his tricorder on a handy rock and took a few steps back the way he’d come. “Did you get lost? If you can hear me, follow the stream; there’s a nice sort of duck pond over —”

Something behind him quacked.

He turned around very carefully, eyes wide. Ah. Yes. The pond actually was a duck pond now.

With ducks.

And a bench.

Footsteps crunched toward him. “Oh, look,” Crowley said. “Ducks. Not supposed to be ducks, are there?”

“Not as such, no.” Aziraphale thought briefly of trying a scan, but when Crowley’s arms resumed their place around him, he realized how foolish he was being. A little demonic miracle. Of course. He leaned his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, covering Crowley’s hands with his own where they lay cupped against his front. “But they are very nice, dear heart.”

Crowley made an agreeable noise.

“I do notice the bench is a bit small, though.”

“Mmm, yes. Spose one of us can sit on the other’s lap.”

Aziraphale twisted around so he could look up at Crowley. “Well, I’m certainly not sitting on yours. You are _made_ of bones.”

Crowley had removed his sunglasses at some point, and his golden eyes sparkled with laughter. “‘N you’re made of bastard. What’s your point?”

Slender arms squeezed Aziraphale, snugging him up tightly to Crowley’s chest. He could feel every surge of breath, could hear Crowley’s heartbeat singing in his own veins. Lips pressed against the round swell of his cheek. Being released from this embrace for long enough to sit down seemed, suddenly, like a very cold and sad fate.

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley said, as if hearing Aziraphale’s thoughts. “Let’s sit down and I’ll give you a proper kiss.”

There turned out to be just enough room on the bench, although it did require a complete abandonment of the concept of personal space, which was perfectly fine with the both of them. And the kiss was very proper indeed.

* * *

Crowley knew Aziraphale had to be somewhere around here. He wouldn’t have gone too far on his own — not without anything to distract him like there might be on a civilized planet. No bookshops (or, these days, antique shops); no small animals to watch do animal things; no little cafes with delicious pastries to sample one or two or five of.

Which reminded him — they’d probably want to get back to the ship fairly soon. It was going on lunchtime, and he wasn’t about to let Aziraphale get too lost in busy work and forget to eat. His pretty little angel needed to keep his strength up. Or... okay, technically he didn’t, being ethereal and all. But whatever. Crowley’s continuing mission was to make sure Aziraphale never had to do without anything he enjoyed, and that included regular meals. The ship apparently had lousy crepes but decent sushi.

Crowley stumbled out of an especially thorny patch of... something-or-other, he didn’t _study_ plants, he just _terrified_ them... into a sunny clearing floored by suspiciously lawn-like grass. Aziraphale was there, which was great.

He was sitting at a table in the middle of the clearing, and that was... well, less great and more impossible.

“The Heaven’s all this?” Crowley circled the table, letting his hand brush Aziraphale’s back as he went by, squeezing one shoulder briefly. “Did you have them beam down lunch?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, which still turned him into jelly a little, because of course it did. “Don’t be ridiculous, lovely. They don’t have Château de Beaucastel in ship’s stores.”

“Not since we drank it all, no.” He eyeballed the table. It held a sampling of various foods he’d noted over the centuries as being Aziraphale’s favorites: a dozen or more fiddly little varieties of pastry, three kinds of crepes, an impressive display of sushi, and what looked suspiciously like the Ritz’s very finest poulet de Bresse. More he couldn’t identify, under cloths or in lidded containers. And, of course, the Château de Beaucastel.

Aziraphale sat in a wrought-iron chair which matched the table. There was another chair to his left. Simple enough, could have been any of a thousand little cafes across the galaxy. Except there were no bloody cafes on this planet. No butter for pastries, no fish for sushi, and nobody making bloody _wrought-iron chairs_.

Miracled up, maybe? Aziraphale swore miracled food never had the same flavor, though. Wine miracled up from nothing, food miracled down from the ship? Had to be something ethereal in it somewhere.

“Please sit down, Crowley. You’re making me nervous. And I’m rather famished.”

“Yeah, but...” Crowley paused his circling when he saw the expression Aziraphale was giving him. Bright blue eyes wide, soft mouth drooping. Probably Crowley’d get sick of that pout someday, maybe, in a million years or so. Hadn’t yet.

Then Aziraphale’s stomach _rumbled_, and Crowley dropped into the other chair fast enough to break the warp barrier.

“All right, I’m here. Poor hungry angel.” He pushed a random plate toward him. “Custard thing?”

“Kuih bakar,” Aziraphale corrected.

“Sure. Do you want it?”

“Goodness, it does look delicious.”

Nothing about this made any sense, but Crowley wasn’t about to fight centuries of habit. He shifted his chair right up next to Aziraphale’s (no more leaning from a distance), and he watched, very carefully, as the first bite of custard thing rose toward Aziraphale’s lips.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, closing his eyes. “It’s as good as when we had it in that village outside Kuala Lumpur. Do you remember?”

Crowley traced a finger idly down Aziraphale’s arm. “I remember. You almost got us thrown out. You couldn’t stop raving about how much you loved it, but we didn’t speak the language, so nobody knew what you were going on about.”

Aziraphale took another bite, rolling it around in his mouth. “It really is phenomenal. You must try some.”

Really, Crowley didn’t want any of it. Everything, _everything_ should be for Aziraphale, to keep his angel happy, to keep that round belly quiet and content. But this was also something Aziraphale wanted, the sharing. Crowley obediently opened his mouth to accept the next spoonful.

“Huh,” he said. “Yeah. Pretty good.”

“It’s exquisite.”

“Not as much as you are,” Crowley replied. He utterly refused to see the eye-roll Aziraphale gave him, because yes, the line was cheesy, absolutely — but it also rose a blush in Aziraphale’s cheeks, sent a smile flitting across his lips, and those were much more interesting details to notice.

Crowley took the spoon from Aziraphale’s unresisting hand. His turn, now: one bite of custard thing, neatly scooped up in an angel-sized mouthful after many decades of practice. He offered it with a hand that didn’t quite shake.

There was a thing Crowley’s stomach did whenever Aziraphale wiggled, whenever he did that little oh-it’s-so-_good_ squirm, a sort of fluttering which was probably just some soppy undemonic thing like being disgustingly in love. Take that, pump it up times about a million, and that was the giddy bottomless swoop that his entire abdominal cavity would do when Aziraphale wiggled because of something Crowley had fed him. Nothing there that wasn’t to like. Beautiful angel sitting beside him, close enough to touch? Check. That same angel indulging himself, overflowing with joy as he did so, to the point where he couldn’t sit still for it all? Double check.

Being the one with the fork or the spoon or the chopsticks in hand, popping each bite past those delicate lips, being directly responsible for all that joy? That was what fueled the swoop. That was what Crowley had dreamed of for so long that it wasn’t even worth thinking about anymore. Because he could do it whenever he wanted, now. It’d been a bloody fantastic 250-odd years since they’d told their old sides to bugger off.

Crowley held the custard thing out, and Aziraphale accepted it with a smile, pudgy cheeks dimpling. His eyes closed again as the flavor hit his tongue. He uttered a silvery little hum of delight.

And he _wiggled_. Yep. There was the swoop. All of Crowley’s internal organs went off for a ride without him, leaving him woozy and weak, and wasn’t it great?

“Angel,” he managed, heart coming back early from the organ ride so it could thud against his ribs. “Angel, I lo — I just — so much.”

“Oh, darling. I love you too.” His round perfect angel slid another plate across the table. “Could I please try the Kvæfjordkake next?”

* * *

Aziraphale loved many things about the mortal realm.

He loved books, of course. Books in general, the idea of them, of human knowledge kept in written form. His own books in particular, with their memories and their personalized inscriptions.

He loved tea, and cocoa, and a glass of very good wine at the end of a long day. He loved food — lunch at the Ritz back on Earth, dinners caught on starbases and planets all over the galaxy, and of course, a hundred thousand little snacks and nibbles, most of them provided by Crowley.

Crowley. Oh, but he loved Crowley. Crowley’s beautiful eyes; his crooked smile; his innate goodness, not Goodness but something far more personal, which showed itself in tiny acts of kindness to others which he would almost never admit to. He loved Crowley’s loyal heart, his strong jaw. The feel of his crimson hair combed between careful fingers late at night, or when they were alone, or quite frankly any time, because there was still quite a bit of catching up for the two of them to do.

He loved Crowley’s kisses, gentle and lingering on his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. Loved Crowley’s arms as they clutched him tightly, seeking out the softest parts of him and holding, squeezing. The two of them pressed together on the narrow bench Crowley had miracled, by the pond filled with demonically-created ducks, and Aziraphale whispered the same litany into Crowley’s mouth that he had uncounted times before: _I love you, I love you, oh my dearest, my only and always_.

Crowley’s answers seldom came in the form of words. His “I love you too” was more likely to come as the reverent caressing of Aziraphale’s face, or his belly. Crowley’s “_my_ only, my dearest, my love” was a brush of his lips to Aziraphale’s eyelids, or a nuzzling against his hair or his chest. Aziraphale was more than happy to speak for both of them, though.

“My treasure,” he whispered now, before Crowley’s lips found his again. “I love you, Crowley. I do.”

“Angel,” Crowley muttered back. Aziraphale tightened his own embrace around the slender shoulders, hard enough to elicit a rough squeak. “Oof. Careful with the merchandise.”

“Sorry, darling.”

Crowley leaned their foreheads together. “Mnh. Told you I was going to kiss you a lot.”

“A demon of your word, truly. I knew there was a reason to keep associating with you.”

Crowley’s laugh ghosted against Aziraphale’s skin. “Not for the conversation?”

“Oh, good Lord, no. If I’m looking for wit, I’ll open up a book, obviously.” Aziraphale tilted his head just enough to kiss Crowley’s nose. “Milton, perhaps...”

Crowley snorted.

“Dear old Victor Hugo, for a bit of a laugh... maybe even some Dostoevsky.”

“Right. No more kisses for you.”

Crowley slouched back to his feet, grinning fondly down at Aziraphale. “Bastard.”

“Oh, now.”

“Perfect beautiful bastard who isn’t getting any more kisses for at least five minutes.”

Now that there wasn’t a demon sprawled on him, Aziraphale sat back up properly. He made careful work of straightening his uniform shirt around the spread of his middle, smoothing out each wrinkle, well aware that Crowley was watching. 

“...or at least for two.” 

Then, when Aziraphale started impatiently drumming his fingers against his belly: “Aw, all right. Come here.”

Crowley helped him to his feet. Tugged him a little closer before dropping his hand in order to brush a thumb against his smile. “But I’m only doing this because I want to get my hands on you again. Pure selfishness.”

Aziraphale’s laugh was interrupted by the warm press of Crowley’s lips. Oh, selfishness indeed, this gentle, languid touch, this yearning catch and give of breath. Why, it would’ve drawn a commendation from Hell for sure.

When he broke the kiss at last, Crowley was blushing slightly. “You know I’ve always...” He traced a finger down one side of Aziraphale’s jaw. “Always, angel. Always have. Not one day I’ve known you that I haven’t.”

“I know, my sweet. I love you too.”

Crowley’s arms encircled him like they were made for it, gathering all of him up with tender efficiency. Every once in a long while, Aziraphale toyed with the idea of changing his corporation to be larger than this one, or smaller; in the end, he’d stayed as he was, very comfortable with just this amount of softness. If he ever did try a change, though, he suspected he would still fit perfectly in Crowley’s embrace. Suspected Crowley would allow nothing less.

“Well.” Aziraphale extracted himself with only minor difficulty from those infernal clutches, taking Crowley’s hand and walking them back up the path to where he’d left his tricorder. “I may be done working, but I’d still love to explore a bit, if you don’t mind?”

“Spose I could go for a stroll through paradise with the most gorgeous creature in the galaxy.” Crowley shoved his free hand into his pocket. “I mean, I probably did something awful enough to deserve it at some point.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, beloved. All you ever had to do was just be yourself.”

“...I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be an insult or not.”

“Really?” Aziraphale smiled innocently. “How very unfortunate.”

There was a snort to his left. Crowley brought their linked hands up, settling a kiss against the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist. “Let’s just enjoy paradise, angel. Never really got a chance the first time.”

* * *

Crowley tried to decide whether Aziraphale’s kiss tasted more like wine, or like crepes, or maybe like one of the fiddly little pastry things which Crowley knew on sight but could never remember the names of. It wasn’t important, really, but it did seem like a useful detail.

Aziraphale sighed into Crowley’s mouth, one hand drifting to Crowley’s knee and pressing down with glorious weight. His other hand still curved through Crowley’s hair, drawing him in with gentle insistence.

Crowley wouldn’t have dared interrupt his angel’s meal for just a kiss. But since Aziraphale had initiated it himself — had dabbed one last time at his lips, pronounced everything delicious, and then had woven his plump fingers into Crowley’s hair with that loving smile — well. That was all right, then. A demon just had to have his priorities straight, was all.

He filled his lungs with Aziraphale’s breath, with his presence. “All done? No more, um —” Aziraphale’s lips caught his again for a moment — “no more tart thing?”

“No thank you.” Aziraphale offered up one last tiny kiss before sitting back again. “I thought we might take a walk?”

“Sure. Let me just catch my breath.” Crowley scrubbed a thumb against his own lips. “Hell’s sake. You _destroy_ me sometimes, Aziraphale.”

A blush rose on Aziraphale’s cheeks, and he dropped his eyes, his smile turning shy. “I know. I can feel it right now — your love. It’s everywhere.”

Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand, squeezing it briefly, and only looked at him. Let himself just think about all his love for his angel. Like opening up a floodgate, one that’d been closed off for millennia, once, but now...

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, raising his head again. Tears trembled in his eyes. “Oh, _Crowley_. Really?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, grinning. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well. I’m afraid that now I’m the one who needs a moment to collect himself... and then we could perhaps take that walk?”

“Sure. Want me to throttle it back meanwhile?”

“Never, darling.” The soft hand tightened against his. “Never, ever do.”

“Sure.”

When they were both ready, Crowley helped Aziraphale to his feet, tugging him close so he could kiss one pudgy cheek.

“If I remember the orbital scans correctly, there should be a nice lake thataway. Sound good?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

He looked back, just once, as they left the clearing. Aziraphale must have miracled everything away, because the table and chairs were gone.

* * *

Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand rather unceremoniously. What he was seeing, however, should not have been possible, so he forgave himself the momentary impoliteness.

“Crowley, did you...?”

No, his eyes hadn’t misled him. By the side of the path there was a small table, with a book displayed on top.

A copy of the collected sonnets of Shakespeare. Very, very old, from the look of it.

“Hmm?” Crowley eased in behind Aziraphale, leaning against his back, chin resting on one of his shoulders. “What, angel?”

“Did you... miracle this here?” Aziraphale paged through carefully, but there were no answers beyond the expected poems. _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom_...

He had been thinking, as they walked, that this was a place meant for poetry. For love poems, specifically; for the sort of verse he might read to his demon, not because anything written by mortal hearts could actually capture his devotion, but only because Crowley deserved such tender things. The two of them under a tree, perhaps, Crowley’s head in his lap, and Aziraphale would murmur the ancient words until Crowley drifted off to sleep.

But he hadn’t mentioned it to Crowley. He’d only just begun thinking it, and hadn’t spoken a word about it yet.

Crowley hummed. “Miracle it? Nah. Not much for books, me.”

“Oh, hush, you packed half a small library on data tape and we both know it.” Aziraphale frowned at the book. “But all that aside... how did this get here?”

“Not one of yours?” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Maybe one of the crew members brought it down.”

“And left it like this? Something _terribly_ strange is going on here.” Aziraphale unsnapped the case on his tricorder. “Let go for a moment, pet, I want to take a reading.”

“I’ll give you a reading,” Crowley grumbled, but he did as asked.

The book registered, not as paper and fabric and ink, but as something more like the native flora. So did the table, when he scanned it — it looked like metal, but it came up as the same basic cell structure as the trees, the grass.

Aziraphale made a frustrated noise.

“Look, if you’re that concerned, let’s head back to the beam-down point.” Crowley slunk around to Aziraphale’s left, taking the book from him and flipping through it. “We’ll meet up with the other teams and sort this thing out.”

“All right. That does make sense.”

“Course it does.” Then: “Ha! Found it. _My angel’s eyes are **exactly** like the sun_...”

* * *

Crowley huffed out a breath. “Um. I think we got turned around.”

“Perhaps a bit, but it hardly matters.” Aziraphale gave their clasped hands a little swing, smiling up at Crowley. “We should find a recognizable landmark eventually. And I’d walk with you anywhere, dear heart.”

“No, we’re definitely headed back toward the glade. That’s all right. We can check in and then wander off somewhere else.” Crowley grinned up at the sky. “I’d like to find you some nice Earth-like flowers, if I can. Amaranth. Ambrosia. Maybe some roses, just to be completely obvious about it.”

Aziraphale ducked his head. “Amaranths mean eternal love, don’t they?”

“‘S why I need a million of them for you. The roses too. You could have a new crown of roses every day. I’d weave them in your pretty curls.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “What flowers would be in your crown, then?”

“My thing is _sexy_, angel. _Cool_. Flower crowns don’t go with sexy. Your thing is ethereal beauty, and believe me, you do it _very_...” He stopped walking. “Wasn’t this forest before?”

He stepped closer to Aziraphale, dropping his hand only so he could get one arm around his waist. Most of the time he did that because he just really wanted an armful (or two) of round angel, but this was different. There was something weird going on. If there turned out to be any danger at all, he needed Aziraphale as close as possible. 

They’d come into an area that was — yeah. Yeah, it was a field of amaranths. And ambrosia, and roses. White camellia, which he hadn’t even mentioned out loud.

“You didn’t miracle this, did you.”

“No.” Aziraphale looked up at him with worried eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t, either. Do you want to take a look around?”

Crowley thought for a moment. “Nah. Let’s hurry back. I want us off this planet as soon as possible.”

* * *

Aziraphale could hear voices up ahead. It looked like their path joined another, so if they could meet up with the other team there, maybe they could compare notes. He wished, now, that he’d scanned the ducks.

As the voices got closer, Crowley dropped his hand in order to put a protective arm around him. Aziraphale accepted the gesture gladly. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew there was no one he’d rather have beside him.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale followed the path toward the glade. There was someone else moving in that direction, coming toward them in no particular hurry.

Crowley stopped where he was, maybe twenty feet from the edge of the next forested patch. His hand still clutched Aziraphale’s waist as the others emerged from the trees.

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves in a field of flowers which Aziraphale was rather certain did not belong on this planet. Two figures stood there, not moving, and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s grip tighten.

* * *

Crowley stared at the other Crowley, his hand pressed into the soft flesh of the other Aziraphale’s side. “Um,” he said.

* * *

Aziraphale gaped at the other Aziraphale, his broad waist tightly encircled by the other Crowley’s arm. “Oh dear,” he said.

* * *

No one moved.

* * *

Crowley’s brain did a thing, just for a moment, at the idea of two Aziraphales. Twice as much adorable bastard. Twice as much softness to get his arms around...

The other Crowley could prove to be a bit of a problem, though. The look he was giving the other Aziraphale was one that Crowley was very familiar with from the inside.

He needed a minute, needed to stall while he figured this out. “Flip you for both of them,” he smirked at the other Crowley. Both Aziraphales uttered scandalized gasps.

* * *

Aziraphale gave Crowley a sharp look. “I assume you are _not_ going to be taking up an offer like that.”

“I dunno, angel... the idea of there being twice as much of you is pretty tempting...”

Then, when Aziraphale pulled away with a huff: “Kidding! I’m kidding! They’re obviously, I dunno, evil clones or something. Robot duplicates. You know what mortal technology is like these days.”

Aziraphale started to answer, then paused. He could sense love from Crowley, just as always; he could sense it from the other Crowley as well, now that they were closer. But the other Crowley...

He switched on his tricorder. “Let’s just see, shall we?”

* * *

Crowley felt Aziraphale pull away from him, same as the other Aziraphale did with the other Crowley. The other Crowley called them evil, which was pretty rich coming from someone pretending to be a demon, and then the other Aziraphale pulled out his tricorder. Because of course the other one also had a bloody tricorder. He wondered how close the other Crowley was to throwing it in a bush somewhere.

The other Aziraphale marched straight across the clearing toward them, ignoring a protest from the other Crowley. He stopped just out of arm’s reach.

“Now,” he said, “Let’s see what you two _actually_ are.”

Crowley shared a glance with Aziraphale as the other angel started his scan.

* * *

Aziraphale scanned his own duplicate first. The results surprised him more than they probably should have: the false Aziraphale was just like the table and the book. Some kind of multicellular casting, matching the structure of all the planet’s flora.

He narrowed his eyes at the other Aziraphale. “You,” he told it, “are a phony.”

Aziraphale scanned the other Crowley, ignoring it as it startled backwards, staring at the other Aziraphale in what looked like shock. Just an imitation of emotion. Exactly like the sense of love he could feel emanating from it, now, exactly like Crowley’s but somehow even stronger; obviously it had been manufactured imprecisely, was not a true match of the original —

He checked his readings twice. Three times. He felt suddenly faint. “Good Lord,” he said.

* * *

Crowley acted on pure instinct. The other Aziraphale’s face went pale, and he staggered, looking like he might go over. Crowley closed the gap between them to throw his arms around what felt exactly like his own soft angel, holding the heavy body upright as best he could until the spell passed.

The other Aziraphale looked up at him in confusion. “Crowley?”

“I’m over here,” the other Crowley said. “You should get away from him. I don’t trust him.”

Aziraphale — the one he’d been walking with — spoke up from behind him. “Yes, do get away from him, Crowley, dear. Whatever he is.”

The other Aziraphale looked back and forth between Crowley and the bastard pretending to be Crowley. “Good _Lord_,” he said again.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “Uh, Aziraphale who isn’t in the middle of fainting. Go scan the other me.”

Aziraphale grumbled something, but crossed to the other Crowley with his tricorder out.

“Why, it’s — nothing but a walking plant!”, he exclaimed.

Suddenly the Aziraphale in Crowley’s arms was clutching at him, holding him almost tight enough for it to hurt.

* * *

Aziraphale grabbed on to Crowley — the real Crowley, not the impostor he’d been with for... oh dear, how long now? — and stared at the other two. “This is terrible,” he moaned. “I can’t believe I’ve been kissing an... an artificial Crowley.”

Crowley gaped. “You kissed it?!”

“I thought it was you!”

“I guess I did... technically... have lunch with the fake you...”

Aziraphale glared at him.

“...might’ve... actually fed it lunch...”

“You didn’t!”

Crowley shrugged helplessly. “_I_ thought it was _you_!”

Aziraphale pulled himself in closer to Crowley, feeling the arms around his waist tighten in response. “Never mind. I think we have both been deceived, beloved.”

The duplicates still had the nerve to look confused. The false Crowley even mumbled a series of nonsense syllables, so much like the real thing that it pulled at his heart for a moment — but no. His own demon was in his arms, love singing out around them, only for Aziraphale.

Only for the _true_ Aziraphale.

“Go away,” he said to the impostors. “I don’t know what you intended to do, but I’m sure I don’t care.”

When a new voice spoke up, Aziraphale jumped.

“Gentlemen, please! This is not how the planet is to be used at all!”

* * *

The newcomer wore long green robes, embroidered in an unfamiliar pattern. He had a face which looked accustomed to smiling, although at the moment it was doing nothing of the sort. He looked from Aziraphale to Crowley with his eyebrows drawn close together.

“We’ve realized that your mortal companions did not understand, but we assumed beings of your power would be more cautious. Do you really not know what all this is?”

“Uh,” Crowley replied. “No?”

The man sighed. “You nearly caused quite the disaster. We’ve had to adjust most of our equipment to deal with you two.”

“Equipment?” asked Aziraphale.

“And the entire planet is infested with these ‘ducks’ now, which is causing the clean-up system no end of trouble.”

“Ducks?” asked Crowley.

“Can we go now?” asked the other Crowley.

The man sighed again. “I am the caretaker of this place. It was intended as a — an amusement park, I believe your companions called it? One has only to imagine whatever one wishes, and the planet will manufacture it.” He gestured vaguely toward the duplicates. “You two apparently have uncommonly strong imaginations.”

“So when we split up and then found each other again...”

The caretaker nodded at Crowley. “You found your imagined versions of each other instead.”

Aziraphale raised his chin. “You can’t expect me to believe that I was the one to — to fantasize that Crowley. I wouldn’t have made him _nearly_ so much of a flirt.”

“You like it,” Crowley sing-songed.

“And I don’t want to think about what you imagined my duplicate to be like —”

“Please do _not_ think,” the caretaker interrupted. “The system should no longer respond to your wishes, but we would rather not take the chance.”

“For the record, he was _scandalous_, angel. At one point I almost saw _forearm_.”

The caretaker cleared his throat.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, disentangling himself from Crowley. “Where did the others go?”

“They’ve been removed. And I believe you should remove yourselves as well.” The caretaker folded his hands. “Your companions may enjoy themselves here, but... please return to your ship. We are not ready to deal with you.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch in the crew lounge?”

“Hmph. Synthesized food.” Aziraphale beamed. “Still, you know I can’t resist your wiles.”

* * *

Anyone in rec room six later that afternoon might well have overheard bits and pieces of a conversation between the Commissioner and his assistant. They were tucked away in a corner, heads close together over a series of plates on the assistant’s side of the table, a single wineglass on the Commissioner’s; but the room was unusually quiet, what with a sizable chunk of the starboard side crew currently down on the planet.

The conversation would probably not have made much sense to a hypothetical listener, full of odd historical references and abrupt changes of topic (Earth waterfowl kept coming up for some reason). Occasionally the words gave way to silent smiles, though, or to a gentle touching of hands, or of lips. These things would have been rather clearer.

At one point, the Commissioner laced his fingers through Lieutenant Fell’s. “Y’know, we more or less got ourselves thrown out of paradise today. When you think about it.”

“Hmm,” Fell replied. “Rather ironic, I suppose. We weren’t even offered an apple first.”

“Could get you apples. Could get you loads of apples.” Crowley took Fell’s hand in both of his, smoothing at the plump fingers, the broad palm. “Every kind there is. You can try ‘em all so we know which your favorite is. Maybe those extra-sweet ones they grow on Alpha Centauri.”

Fell chuckled. “You’re still looking for an excuse to go there?”

“I mean, not an _excuse_ as such. We could just go.”

“We could.”

Crowley released Fell’s hand, then smiled as it immediately found his face, thumb stroking one sharp cheek. “Lotta other places to see, though.”

“There are. More every day, almost. Humans really are so clever.”

“And it’ll still be there. Alpha Centauri. Any time we want.”

“They don’t have the Ritz there, I suppose.”

Crowley laughed. “Even if they did, you’d say it wasn’t the same. Fussy angel.” He leaned forward suddenly, catching Fell in his arms, causing an undignified squawk as he pulled the other man into his lap. It really shouldn’t have worked, an outside observer might have thought, Fell being so much larger; but after a brief period of wriggling and muttering, he seemed to find a comfortable enough spot. He nestled against the Commissioner’s chest, one hand tracing idle circles there.

“Perhaps we’ll go after the next stop,” Fell murmured. “If nothing more interesting presents itself.”

“No rush.” Crowley kissed the side of Fell’s head. “We’ve got all the time in the universe.”

Fell smiled, just a bit wickedly. “And I couldn’t _imagine_ a better person to spend it with.”

The Commissioner groaned and grumbled something about dropping a certain lovely angel on his lovely arse. His arms only tightened around Fell’s waist, however. Their conversation emptied out into silence after that, neither seeming inclined to break it, as the ship’s day slowly ticked over into night.

**Author's Note:**

> (Brief floriography note: I don't know anything more about it than what Google tells me, but supposedly amaranths stand for eternal love; ambrosia stands for mutual love; white camellia meant "you're adorable" according to one source which now I can't find anymore; and roses are obvious.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one, whether it's a single emoticon, a copy-pasted line, a keysmash, an entire novel of feelings, or whatever. (Even after a story's been online for a while and already has comments! I like to know that my babies are still loved!) I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said in comments, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. Just know that if you're ever questioning whether it would bother or annoy me for you to comment or otherwise reach out, _no oh goodness no it will never bother me it will absolutely do the opposite of that_.
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too. The last sentence of the previous paragraph applies here as well. 
> 
> I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored ([and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people))! I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation). Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: ([speremint 1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how)) Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!
> 
> (If you say something nice about one of my stories and I recognize you as an artist who does commissions, there is a chance I will ask to give you an amount of money of your choosing to draw your favorite bit of the story you complimented. Just a little warning.) 
> 
> I hope you're having a fantastic day.


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